


Angels with bloodstained laundry

by fandomstakeoveryourlife



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, College student Jim, Laundromat, M/M, Med student Leonard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomstakeoveryourlife/pseuds/fandomstakeoveryourlife
Summary: 3am was not the usual time that Jim went to the Laundromat to wash his clothes, but then again, since when had there been a usual time that he went at?He wasn't wearing anything at all; just a pair of slightly loose, standard grey boxers. In all honesty, it hadn't been his fault, but, it was his own fault that he had to be stood in his boxers; he'd been avoiding doing his laundry for weeks, and now it'd come around to bite him in the ass.





	Angels with bloodstained laundry

3am was not the usual time that Jim went to the Laundromat to wash his clothes, but then again, since when had there been a usual time that he went at? In any case, it hadn't ever been at 3am before. Though, there had been that one time, when he'd been out drinking, and gotten with some guy, who, after ogasiming, had vomited violently all over both of them, then proceeded to pass out. Of course, Jim had felt like he couldn't leave the guy, so had managed to wake him up and persuaded him to go home. They'd only been two blocks from the guy's apartment block, when he'd declared he had clothes at the Laundromat, that needed picking up. Jim, on the other hand, had been too tired to argue - he was already getting a headache - and had stumbled into the damp Laundromat, at 12 at night, both of them covered in puke and cum, reeking of cheap, shitty alcohol, stale cigarette smoke and sweat. To be honest, it wasn't the most humiliating public experience he'd ever had, though, he didn't exactly want to repeat it any time soon.

However, this time, Jim wasn't adorning puke and semen soaked clothing, in fact, he wasn't wearing anything at all; just a pair of slightly loose, standard grey boxers. In all honesty, it hadn't been his fault, but, it was his own fault that he had to be stood in his boxers; he'd been avoiding doing his laundry for weeks, and now it'd come around to bite him in the ass. 

A shudder ran through him, and Jim wished, for probably, at least, the sixth time, that the Laundromat had some kind of heating. He glanced through the large smeary window, trying to see if there was anyone heading down the street, with the intention of coming in. He'd been on edge since he'd stripped off his filthy jeans and hoodie, some forty minutes ago, though, realistically, he knew he'd deal with the situation fine, if anyone came in. Still, he couldn't quite figure out what was bothering him so much; maybe in case someone he knew came in? No, he'd just laugh it off; he always did. 

Maybe, it was because someone hot might come in? 

Jim scowled at himself; no, that was stupid. No one hot would ever come into a shitty Laundromat, like the one he was in. And even if they did, he was in his boxers, plus, he had his charm, didn't he?

He folded his arms across his bare chest and mentally scolded himself for being insecure, not to mention fucking stupid. He was so deeply absorbed into his thoughts, that he didn't notice the person approaching the facilities, until the groaning of the door, as it opened, made him jump. Jim's head snapped towards the noise, and his eyes went wide as a male entered in, with earphones in, and a thick plastic shopping back in one hand - the semi reusable kind you get from supermarkets, the ones that cost almost a dollar. The guy barely seemed to notice Jim as he busied himself with opening one of the washing machines and unloading the plastic bag.

Jim's jaw went slack as his eyes were drawn to the huge, dark patches on the man's clothes, as he put them into the machine; some retained a dark redish colour, almost burgundy or maroon in some places, others looked a dryish, dark brown. Blood. He licked his suddenly dry lips, and looked away, tightening his folded arms, drawing them closer across his chest, as if they'd offer him some protection. He stared at his own machine, but his eyes felt like they were burning, and, before he could stop himself, he felt his gaze wander back to the only other person in the room. He'd finished unloading his stained clothing and was now pouring detergent into the slot.

As Jim stared, he found himself taking in the other males appearance; he was fairly tall, or, taller then Jim, at least, with a stocky built frame. His blue sweater and black jeans clung in places that showed off thickly muscled arms and toned legs. Whilst he wasn't particularly tanned, his skin had those telltale yellowish brown undertones that told of years in the sun. His hair was dark brown and lay half flat, as if he'd been running his fingers through it, repeatedly. 

"Can I help you, kid?" 

Jim jumped back to attention; he'd been staring. The man was standing, facing him now, his posture a mirror image of Jims, with his arms folded, though he looked far more aggressive in his stance. One of his dark eyebrows was quirked upwards and his accent only just registered with Jim as a thick Sourtheren one. 

"Why's there blood on your clothes?" Jim blurted before he could stop himself. "Did you kill someone?" To be honest, Jim wouldn't be surprised at all if he had.

"Why're you stood there in your pants?" The man growled back, though, there was almost some amusement in his voice.

"Tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine."

"No, answer my question, and I'll think abou' answering yours."

Jim frowned a little. "I asked first."

"And I asked second, what's your poin', kid?"

"I'm Jim. Jim Kirk." He said after a moment's pause.

"Nice, but I don't really care." He paused. "Actually, I don't care abou' why you're in your underwear, a' all."

Jim watched the man turn back to stare at his washing machine, with a curious expression on his face; now he really wanted to know. There were several long beats of silence between them; the only sound was the metallic tune of button and zips clanging against the inside of washing machines and dryers, and the electric whirr of several motors, all going at once. 

Then, the guy sighed heavily and turned back to face Jim. "M'names Leonard Mccoy, and I'm a Doctor, Surgeon specifically; that's why I've got blood on m'clothes, okay?" 

"Don't they give you scrubs, or something? Y'know, stuff to put over the top, so you  _don't_ get blood everywhere."

Leonard snorted. "Yeah, 'course they do, kid."

Jim frowned a little. "How'd you end up so bloody then?" 

Leonard huffed a small sigh and leaned back against the floor to ceiling column of washing machines, so he was facing towards Jim more. 

"I was off duty, wasn't mean' t' be working. But someone came in needing urgent surgery, an' all the other surgeons were busy. So they called me in." He rolled his eyes. "Came runnin' in, in m' sweatpants and sleepin' shirt, and some shitty hoodie. They said there was no time for me t' change, an' I ended up preformin' some messy ass surgery in m' lounge clothes. Got blood everywhere." He nodded slowly at the memory.

"Was it a success? The surgery, I mean." Jim was staring eagerly at Leonard. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but some part of him didn't want to drop the conversation, at least, not yet.

Leonard rolled his eyes and pulled an 'are you stupid?' face. "'Course it was, wouldn' let a patient die on me, 'cause I was in m'sweatpants." Jim grinned widely at the sarcasm as it rolled off the other mans tongue; his accent really thickened when he was sarcastic, and some part of Jim found it really fuckin hot.

Neither spoke for a moment, until Leonard turned and looked pointedly at Jim. "C'mon then, why're you in just your boxers?" There was a slight shit-eating smirk on his face.

Jim huffed out a sigh. "I've been putting off my laundry for weeks, y'know? Like a normal college student, 'cause that shit eats up your money like nothing else, and before you know it, you pawing down the back of the sofa for the third time in two weeks, hoping you'll find some misplaced loose change, just so you can wear a pair of underwear that hasn't already been worn inside and outside, back and front." 

Leonard snorted in amusement and rolled his eyes, as if Jim was waffling some absolute bullshit. 

"So, I basically haven't done my laundry in about a month, probably more, actually. I was gonna do it soon anyway, but, then, this morning, I was in the food hall, and I was half asleep, 'cause I was up super fucking late last night."

"I can already see where this is going an' I hope it turns out to be as funny as I imagine it will." Leonard had a, poorly concealed, smirk slowly spreading across his face.

"And, I, kinda, walked into some guy, and his entire tray tipped over me." Leonard let out a loud bark of laughter. "But then, to make it worse, said guy was already really pissed off and he shoved me to the ground and his mates decided they were going to dump their trays on me too.  _And then_ , I didn't have any time to change between classes; not that it would've really matter, 'cause I didn't have any clean clothes at home anyway. So I've been stuck in those clothes all day, and to say it's been humiliating, would be an understatement."

Leonard was howling with laughter, his head thrown back like a wolf, his chest heaving and his hands clutching at the material of his sweater. Jim scowled for a moment, then stared, in minor fascination, at Leonards adams apple as it bobbed up and down in sync with his weird, slightly gasping, laughter. The dark haired male inhaled deeply and doubled over forwards, his hands sliding down his thighs, to his knees, to brace himself. For several moments, the only sound was Leonard evening his breathing and letting out the odd huff of laughter, now and again. 

Eventually, he straightened up again and looked at Jim, who was now standing, with his arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow quirked upwards.

"Glad my pain and suffering amuses you." 

Another short, bark of laughter escaped Leonards lips. "Yeah, sure, kid." He cocked his head to one side and studied Jim for a moment. 

Jim shifted, uncomfortably, from foot to foot; though he wasn't exactly very self conscious, he still didn't exactly like being stared at, especially not by someone as hot as Leonard, and not while he, himself, was in his underwear. 

"I mean," the older male started, "it's not like you have anythin' t' worry abou'." He shrugged and Jim frowned.

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, you got a fine lookin' body, kid. So, you ain't got anythin' t' worry abou', with bein' in your underwear 'n' all." 

For a moment, Leonard wouldn't meet Jim's eyes, and Jim found himself stepping closer to the other male, until he was right in front of him. It was like his body was acting without his command, as he hooked two fingers under Leonard's chin and tipped his head upwards, so crystal blue eyes met hazel-green. For a moment, there was silence between them, and the entire world just seemed to freeze around them, as they both leaned in and their lips made contact.

Jim found Leonards lips slightly parted and he slotted his two between them, so as to pull the top lip between his own. He was surprised by the gentleness of the other male; his brusque personality and rough outer shell failed to match the softness that Jim was currently experiencing. The taste that slid over his tongue was almost bitter sweet, with that distant hint of alcohol that lingers in places of near permanence. He cupped the back of Leonard's head, and felt the stiff bristles of his shorter hairs digging into his palm. 

It felt like heaven. 


End file.
